Closed Eyes
by Mach1av3ll1an
Summary: A legend. A formidable opponent. A lone wolf. One of Japan's greatest street racers. These were some of the things he was known for. However, over the years, his legacy had been forgotten, his status depleted, before ending up as a father in a poverty-stricken family and the owner of a small tofu shop on the brink of bankruptcy.
1. Prologue

**_Disclaimer - I do not Initial D; only the plot and any OCs._**

 ** _{Warning, due to inconsistent temporal settings, some changes had to be made in regards to the time events happen in the original source material.}_**

 **Prologue**

 _Saturday, 20th of July 2013_

It was a typical Summer evening in Japan.

The high temperatures contrasted with the misleading lack of light, creating a peculiar setting.

It is because of the almost-unbearable temperatures why one might be forgiven for believing that participating in any sport that requires any semblance of endurance, in that heat, can be considered a rather asinine decision.

Yet, despite this setback, on a road cutting through a dark, unwelcoming forest whose canopies loomed over the edges of the tarmac, two extensively modified cars moving in a single file line, with a Honda S2000 at the front, and a Toyota Corolla at the rear, lined up behind the starter for the umpteenth time, with both drivers savouring the short break they had before the inevitable countdown began.

The physical and mental toll on both drivers from brazenly scampering across a narrow and unlit mountain pass incessantly had already begun to show.

Takumi's focus and concentration were beginning to waver, and his vision had begun to blur momentarily at random points during the downhill runs, which was disconcerting, to say the least. Joshima was faring worse, though only marginally, despite the fact that his age exceeds that of Takumi's by a country mile, as he had a lot more experience with long endurance races. Their cars weren't faring much better.

The rear tyres on Takumi's Eight-Six were almost completely bald, making it more of a handful in the corners. In an attempt to preserve what little was left of the rear tyres, Takumi counter steered less, taking advantage of the grip left in the front tyres, and on one or two runs, tried to avoid drifting, and gripped instead, despite not having any previous experience with gripping. Additionally, the obsolescent suspension in the Eight-Six was beginning to give way under the constant strain. The rear tyres on Joshima's S2000, on the other hand, were faring much better, as he used a combination of both driving styles (gripping and drifting). However, the front tyres on the S2000 were in worse condition relative to that of the Eight-Six, as it was heavier.

Both drivers steeled themselves as the countdown began.

"3…2…1…GO!"

Both cars set off on the downhill run, with the two drivers carefully avoiding wheel spin to preserve their rear tyres.

* * *

 _At the bottom of the pass_

Silence blanketed the dark surroundings, despite the massive crowd it contained.

It seemed that even outside observers could sense the increasing trepidation and tension between the two participating teams.

Ryosuke Takahashi noted the lack of communication between his team members from where he sat at the back of an empty Project D van. The usually bold and talkative Keisuke was unusually silent as he quietly observed the corner from which the AE86 and the AP1 would later emerge, and so was Kenta, his "Apprentice", as he jokingly called him a few days prior. The same could be said about the other members; the team spokesperson and the two mechanics.

Since the beginning of the ongoing downhill run, Ryosuke felt jittery; his senses and instincts were screaming, telling him the conclusion of the race was near, and judging by the thick silence that rested between the other Project D members, the others believed this as well.

As Ryosuke eyed the stretch of road behind the finish line, his ears picked up the distinct thrum of an engine.

At first, it started off as a whisper, a sound that few would be able to hear, and he thought it was the two racers approaching, but quickly dismissed that theory, as 1. The most recent downhill run just began, and 2. As the car neared, the soft thrum became the roar of a four-cylinder boxer engine, an engine that both the AP1 and AE86 weren't fitted with.

A large portion of the crowd and the entirety of both teams snapped their heads towards the approaching noise, heralding the arrival of the unknown car. As it approached the crowd of spectators, its features became clearer and clearer. It was fitted with an easily recognizable combination of blue body paint and golden alloy rims and was towing what appeared to be a single car trailer.

As soon as the Impreza entered the vicinity of the two run-off areas at the two sides of the road where the crowd and both teams were lounging, it suddenly braked and slowed down at an incredible rate, before the rear wheels locked up, and swung around in a 180-degree turn, with assistance from the handbrake.

The Impreza swung around and stopped right in front of the finishing line, parallel to the painted lines on the road. The trailer it was towing began to slide around as well and stopped perfectly in-line with the Impreza. A feat that many would dismiss as pure luck.

However, for a brief moment, Ryosuke caught a glimpse of the aura surrounding the mysterious Impreza. A devilish, seemingly ubiquitous blood-red aura surrounded the Impreza.

Auras are emitted by everyone. It changes slightly every time one does a different activity, and the changes tend to be the number of "holes" or "dark patches" present in the aura of a person, which represents how many weaknesses one has in an activity, the size of the aforementioned "dark patches", which indicates how large (or exploitable) these weaknesses are, how widespread the aura is, which displays how much confidence one has in an activity, and the density of the aura, which shows how much skill and experience one has in a particular activity. Occasionally, the colour of the aura of a person may change, which displays what approach one takes in an activity, whether it be aggressive, cautious, cerebral, or any other approach one might possibly have.

There was not a single hole or irregularity present in the Impreza's dense, impenetrable aura.


	2. Of Insults and Top Notch Parenting

_**Ello guys! Mach1av3ll1an 'ere!**_

 _ **Gonna make this AN quick and short.**_

 _ **PLEASE leave a review with constructive criticism, as I know many consider this fanfic as sub-par.**_

 _ **(Also, I don't actually know what the Project D vans are, so I'll be substituting them)**_

 _ **Anyways, back to the story!**_

* * *

Chapter I – Of Insults and Top Notch Parenting

Keisuke's youthful features contorted into a snarl as he watched the opposition's "harem" (or so he called them) displayed a rather obvious show of disrespect to him and his fellow Project D members, jeering and showering them with thinly veiled insults, a few laughing and joking about their "sheer incompetence".

He clenched his fists as he watched the ongoing "victory parade". Part of him wanted to vocalize the fact that the race wasn't over yet, but under _these_ circumstances, it might as well be. With the Eight-Six incapacitated, it truly seemed to be an easy victory for the two middle-aged racers. To be strictly honest, it wasn't hard to speculate what had brought upon the Eight-Six's downfall. When you combine the obsolescent design of its suspension with the way it had been used since it left the factory (Takumi claimed that it had been pushed on the touge every single day since it was sold to its first owner in the early eighties, which was over ten years prior to his birth, though he didn't elaborate about it much) which did include the occasional gutter-run, it wasn't surprising that the suspension had finally given way to the unrelenting pressure that is time. Well, an invincible combination of time and saturated strain (he overheard the conversation regarding the potential suspension-damaging nature of the gutters present on this course between Ryosuke and Takumi).

He was able to glimpse Takumi's facial expression multiple times between each downhill run, which only seemed to grow increasingly frustrated and confused. He was also able to spot the glimmers of (what appeared to be) sweat which seemed to grow in size and amount with each run.

It was quite obvious that this race wasn't exactly a walk in the park for the tofu-deliverer.

Perhaps that was why he decided to execute his signature move despite the risks it posed to both his suspension and, by association, his small hope of victory.

There really was nothing he could…

Hoshino's radio unexpectedly came (or rather, _blared_ ) to life as the familiar harmony of radio static resounded, quietening down the surrounding audience.

Huh? That was certainly a surprise. Keisuke had expected the message regarding the incapacitation of the Eight-Six to be the final announcement, and as the race had just effectively ended, why would there be another?

His thoughts were quickly displaced by the cracking voice of a commentator who frantically shouted, "The S2000 has spun out! I repeat, the S2000 has spun out! Its driver seems to be…puking at the side of the road! The AP1 just got passed! And as I don't think Joushima will recover the lost ground or even get back into his car anytime soon, the Eight-Six seems to be on its way to an unexpected victory! What an unexpected turn of events!"

Keisuke's jaw dropped, his eyelids retracting in surprise.

From what he could tell, his expression was adorned by quite a few members of the audience.

 _It seemed that their prayers had been finally answered._

Before he could comprehend the situation any further, a light chuckle contaminated the deafening silence.

His head quickly snapped towards its source: the cockpit of the Impreza. He had temporarily forgotten about the gatecrasher, which, considering the transpired events which led to this lapse, wasn't surprising.

The chuckle which had emanated from the car definitely contradicted with its previous enigmatic and inscrutable demeanour.

* * *

 _One day earlier…_

The two members of the Purple Shadow and most of the Mount Tsukuba racers stood silently at the highest point of the "Fruit Line", the most notorious pass on the mountain, waiting for the inevitable arrival of the Project D team. A dense, incessant wave of anticipation and trepidation flooded the large parking area, plaguing the racers with a sense of apprehensiveness, the surrounding guardrails seemingly closing in on them.

Joushima groaned (as quietly as possible; after all, he had an image [and his pride as Ibaraki's best] to maintain) as he rubbed circles on his temples. _I'm getting too old for this_ … It didn't seem too long ago when he was part of the most well-known team around, which consisted of him and his hot-headed friend, who, according to the guy (at the time), was a "chick magnet".

Of course, he couldn't simply neglect to acknowledge or mention the third teammate they had for a short period of time. Of course, said member suddenly decided to quit within the first week of joining as "he couldn't be bothered", not that Joushima expected anything else from the man. In some ways, he couldn't exactly blame the man, as their meetings typically lasted for over three hours, discussing opponents, possible strategies and tactics. There was also the plentiful supply of challenges from opposing teams they had to talk about. The chain-smoking 240Z (and later AE86) driver wasn't exactly a patient man, which, combined with his stubbornness and his "I shall do as I please" attitude, made this outcome inevitable. He later became the only person to (metaphorically) run circles around his team.

Those were simpler times.

Of course, much has changed since then. While his hiatus had taken an immense toll on his fame and popularity, he was still well-known around these parts, which he learned courtesy to the way the fastest team of youths who raced on this course had addressed him and Hoshino when they had shown up unexpectedly, who were second only to him and his aforementioned "chick magnet", who, in recent times, has become more of a "fat and obesity magnet" than anything else (including his previous self-proclaimed alias from ten years prior).

He briefly wondered if this was going to be Purple Shadow's final race.

His train of thought was interrupted when the distinct and unrestrained noise of engines breathing through straight-piped exhausts. He was immediately able to distinguish the soft purr of a rotary engine and the comparatively quiet hum of the engine of (what seemed to be) multiple Toyota Hiatuses, though he wasn't able to discern what the other accompanying engine was. After a moment of focused listening, he unearthed the fact that it was a four-cylinder, but he was still unsure about what specific engine it was. For some reason, the answer seemed to be millimeters away from his fingertips, his mind scolding him for his inability to scrutinize and discern the name of the engine in question.

The engine sound definitely resembled that of a 4A-GE, but at the same time, it sounded…raw, less restrained. By "less restrained", he wasn't just implying that the car in question had been straight-piped (he had encountered them on numerous occasions in the past to know if a 4A-GE's only modification is a free-flowing exhaust). In the end, he decided that perhaps the engine powering Project D's enigmatic Eight-Six, if it truly is a 4A-GE, had undergone severe augmentations at some point, and had been modified beyond recognition, both audibly and visually.

"What cars do you think they're driving, Toshiya?" Hoshino asked, his slack facial features stretching into a grin out of excitement and trepidation.

Joushima contemplated Hoshino's question, thinking about some of the possible vehicles that the Project D guys could've brought. _As one of the cars they have brought definitely has a rotary engine of sorts, perhaps an RX-7 FC or FD, probably not an FB or an RX-8. If the other car they brought has a 4A-GE, then I'm guessing they came with an Eight-Six, which, in my opinion, is by far the most popular car outfitted with a 4A-GE from the factory, and I don't see it being swapped into any other car, due to its low horsepower figures._

Joushima finally responded with, "Personally, I believe we're dealing with an FC or an FD, and an Eight-Six."

Hoshino laughed, and said, "Honestly, considering our experiences with Eight-Sixes and 4A-GEs in the past, I wouldn't be surprised if you're inadvertently seeing Project D's Eight-Six in a new light, and as a much larger threat."

Moments later, his suspicions were proven correct, as a bright yellow RX-7 FD with a carbon hood and a massive wing, and a black and white AE86 Trueno emerged from behind the wall of the small parking lot.

Almost immediately, Joushima's eyes were locked on to a horizontal logo consisting of multiple Japanese words on the left door of the AE86, just beside the door handle.

 _Fujiwara Tofu Shop…_

Alarm bells immediately began ringing inside his head, though he couldn't put his finger on why. _Perhaps my subconscious mind is simply expecting the driver to be Bunta, though I'm not even sure if he's even alive. With his wild smoking and drinking habits, I wouldn't be surprised if he had already kicked the bucket._

As the competing team pulled up alongside their cars, he quickly ceased his concerns and composed his facial features into a light (but tight-lipped) smile, in order to hide his inner turmoil and building trepidation. The large convoy of vans didn't fail to intimidate him, albeit only slightly.

The familiar _squeak_ of not-exactly-standard brakes pulled him out of his contemplations.

As the two cars stopped side-by-side, Joushima trained his eyes on the driver-side doors of both cars. He was looking forward to seeing what the drivers looked like.

The RX7's driver emerged first. From what he could tell, the guy seemed to be in the prime of his youth, at twenty-something years old (approximately; it was a rough guess), with his clothes and hairstyle screaming delinquency. However, what he found the most intriguing, was the Eight-Six driver. As said driver exited his Corolla, his eyes widened slightly in shock. "That Eight-Six guy can't be more than twenty years old!" Hoshino whispered into his ear, and he definitely had to agree with him: the guy looked like he belonged in high school, and might actually still be attending!

For some unknown reason, the guy actually looked rather familiar, though Joushima simply brushed it off as false recognition.

* * *

Takumi yawned as he approached the green R34 and purple S2000 (quite a peculiar yet intriguing choice of colours, if he said so himself) with the other Project D guys.

He could tell just how serious the upcoming race was.

He senses could easily pick up the immense auras the two middle-aged men next to the two cars emitted.

He knew how much of a reckoning and milestone this could potentially be to the (somewhat) recently established Project D team if they happened to beat this set of opponents (in fact, if memory serves, he could recall his father mention the Purple Shadow once, or it might just be his vivid imagination).

He could effectively sense the tenseness rolling off his teammates in waves, their building trepidation clearly displayed in their eyes.

However, to be honest, despite the potential threat right in front of him to (what was left of) his already diminishing confidence and courage as a touge racer, he couldn't care less.

Of course, with recent revelations regarding the identity of the Impreza's driver, which had effortlessly passed him on Akina, he simply didn't care anymore. The ease with which the 22B had passed him had completely and utterly obliterated his pride, confidence, and courage, terminating _every last ounce_ of his confidence without remorse. Unsurprisingly, this caused him to slowly become obsessed with the aforementioned Impreza, researching for days on end in an attempt to unearth more details about the Subaru that had passed him with little-to-no effort, only to exit his family's tofu shop one morning to find the same Impreza he had been so obsessed with parked at the front door, and his father handing him the keys with little-to-no explanation.

This only served to drag his insecurities to the forefront of his mind.

 _You will never be able to surpass your father._ _ **You will never be able to live up to your father's legacy.**_ His mind whispered to him insidiously.

Unlike the majority of the racing community, he knew about his father's many feats during his reign within the Japanese street racing scene. He knew of every win, every record that the almighty **Bunta Fujiwara** had broken.

To put it simply, he idolised his father.

He could recall every minute detail from the few times he rode alongside his father.

On every single delivery run, he fooled himself into seeing a ghost which represented his father driving the Eight-Six. No matter what he did, no matter what techniques he used, the non-existent ghost of his father seemed to pull away. Even after the Eight-Six's engine swap, the ghost only seemed to become faster and faster, eventually slipping away into the distance as the gap between the two vehicles grew, both figuratively and literally.

Whatever hope he still had left which reassured that he would surpass his father one day shattered once he realized his father was the driver of the 22B which had passed him, furthering and solidifying his perception of his father's elusive and unreachable nature.

The times when he accidentally eavesdropped on his father whilst he was insulting his _only_ son didn't exactly bandage his bruised ego.

 _When I was eighteen, I was twice as fast as he is, now._

 _His driving style is improving at a much slower rate than I was at that age._

And when he finally was able to convince himself that perhaps his father was simply conforming to his superiority complex, here came the most scathing comment of them all.

At the time, he had just discovered the identity of the previously inscrutable and ever-elusive driver of the monstrous Impreza.

At the time, he had just returned from a small, private car meet (at daytime) only comprised of Akina's racers, albeit rather early, as Itsuki had finally discovered that he had the slowest times on the Akina downhill AND uphill (despite his recently-installed turbo). To say that this revelation had fractured Itsuki's (seemingly endless stretch of) pride was an understatement. This turn of events may or may not have lead to Itsuki lashing out at all his peers and proceeding to seethe at the back of the crowd afterward.

Never let it be said that Itsuki is and has always been a humble and stoic person. Unsurprisingly, the meet ended prematurely, as everyone overheard Itsuki (essentially) blaming his entire team for his incompetence, the resounding silence blanketing the meet, the sullen atmosphere polluting the surrounding area with an almost palpable sense of unease among all the racers present.

After he brought his Eight-Six to the Project D headquarters, writing a list with numerous modifications he wanted to be made to his Eight-Six on multiple empty sticky notes which had previously been stuck to the wall (he may or may not have requested them as a result of his insecurities catching up to him), he began walking home. In the past, under similar circumstances, he would usually practice new techniques on Akina for an hour or two before returning, filling in the time between when he told his father when he would be back and when the meet ended. This time around, he only ran the downhill once and decided to leave the premise soon after the first run. In light of, uh, _recent events_ , he wanted some alone time (correction: time to sulk).

As he approached the familiar entrance of the tofu shop, he spotted a modified AE86 with a body kit and green bonnet parked outside.

 _Dad didn't tell me about any visitors..._ Takumi mused.

His ears picked up the distinct and recognizable sound of conversation (the door was slightly ajar). "-ou shouldn't be so hard on the kid." A slightly high-pitched voice spoke, one which he didn't recognize.

Immediately, he raised an eyebrow. _Huh…I wonder if they're conversing about me…_

Quietly, he opened the shop door with utmost care, paying attention to minimize the universal _creak_ which goes hand-in-hand with opening doors and twisting hinges. However, like always, the hinge squeaked, causing him to freeze in place, his face paling.

 _Shit._

Fortunately, the conversation seemed to be loud enough to mask his error, with neither of the previous occupants of the tofu shop seeming to notice any inconsistencies. For once, he was glad his father conversed at a volume that rivaled the scream of Keisuke's FD at full chat.

The mysterious guest continued, "Personally, I think your methods are a bit unnecessary, maybe even slightly extreme. With all the stress the kid is under with both Project D and his finals, which should be coming up soon, the last thing he needs is to add another _insecurity_ to the already growing pile. It can potentially have some unforeseen psychological effects on the guy that may turn out to be detrimental in the future. Keep in mind that this is _your own son_ , not just some ward you that you want to mould into a potential successor."

His father's baritone voice responded a stark contrast to the (somewhat) high-pitched voice he was conversing with, "It's the only way, the _fastest_ way to indirectly develop his skills, determination, and motivation without intervening."

 _I wonder if they're talking about my driving…_

While his father will surely berate him for eavesdropping if he happened to be caught, he couldn't help it. If anyone he knew inadvertently overheard their parents conversing about them, they would, most likely, listen in. After all, who wouldn't?

He tiptoed quietly towards the cloth-covered doorway, intent on listening more closely.

"In terms of the required ingredients to boost the rate at which one's skills improve, Takumi and I are essentially identical in that aspect. We both _need_ an invincible opponent: one which we have to lose to in order to boost our learning rate. In these cases, it may actually benefit from insecurity and deteriorating self-esteem." His father said, a slight edge to his tone.

 _The hell…?_

The deafening silence permeated throughout the room, broken occasionally by the sporadic chirps of a nearby flock of birds.

He could hear his father clearing his throat, preparing to spout out another sentence. However, before Bunta could make any statements, he was interrupted, or "beaten to the punch", so to speak.

"There _must_ , at least, be a single reasonable excuse as to why you're doing this…" The unknown visitor pleaded. "Even for you, this is somewhat over-the-top."

The empty void called silence filled the room once more, though it was quickly replaced by his father's deep voice. His next words froze Takumi in place.

"To be honest…" Bunta took a deep breath, as if he was dreading the next few words he was about to say, "…I'm… _disappointed in him_."

Takumi's mouth dropped open, his jaw effectively slamming on the ground, his eyes bulging out of their sockets.

Few people knew of his motivations when it came to racing on the touge. One of which was his love for racing against singular opponents, another was to take inspiration from the driving styles of his opponents and to use it to improve his times. However, above all else, he simply wanted to become the fastest street racer out there, and most of all, to make his father proud.

Every time he received a high score in a test of sorts or received an award of some sort, his father would barely acknowledge it, which he would later learn was because his old man considered such achievements trivial.

During primary school, time and time again, he attempted to achieve as many metaphorical medals (e.g. Highest scorer in the grade, fastest sprinter, etc.) as possible, receiving a scholarship and winning karate competitions in the process. However, Bunta barely budged, only nodding in approval at best. He never gave any vocal compliments or congratulations.

At the time, Takumi was indescribably close to pulling his hair out in frustration. He truly didn't know how to prove himself to his father.

However, that all changed after Bunta took him for that first drive in the Eight-Six.

It was quite clear that driving was not a subject of trivial nature to the man.

Even without experience, Takumi could tell the technique, fluidity and speed with which he cleared the corners could've taken years to perfect. So when his father "forced" (to be honest, he would've jumped at the opportunity either way) him to make the deliveries the next day with _himself_ in the driver's seat, he salivated at the small yet ample window of opportunity he had to impress his father.

He decided that even though he disliked driving, he would still place large amounts of effort in developing his driving style and skill if it meant that his father would finally recognize him.

It was the only reason he started driving down mountain roads as fast as he could.

Even now, aside from the prospect of surpassing his father _someday_ , it is still one of the main sources of his motivation and determination.

Well, when it came down to driving and racing, at least.

Now, to hear his father call him a disappointment, of all things, was…disheartening, to say the least.

Or at least, that was what he attempted to convince himself.

It took all his willpower to avoid bursting into tears and alerting the other resident of the tofu shop of his presence.

That was the final straw.

Quietly, he exited the tofu shop, no longer feeling 'at home' at the place he considered his habitat for the entirety of life.

He walked quickly -towards where, he himself didn't know-, just needing some fresh air at the moment.

Over the next few days (and the next few weeks, he imagines), the other Project D members had shot Takumi worried glances, no doubt catching on to the fact that not everything was _peachy_ on his end.

Well, he didn't exactly make it hard for others to read him. He knew for a fact that his general posture had essentially slumped, taking on the appearance of a sixty-year-old man, the growing shadows which he knew had begun to encompass his eyes a clear sign of sleep deprivation (even more so than usual), which was the result of spending a lot more time than necessary before and after his tofu runs, practicing and attempting new techniques on Akina pass, trying his very best to remedy his stagnating skills. In the past, he would've considered his previous rate of improvement as enough, as it was able to meet the standards of Project D. Now, however, he viewed it as a minute change that barely altered the scope of his skills.

While Ryosuke didn't partake in the others' displays of collective sympathy, though Takumi was convinced the man held a much deeper understanding of his predicament than he let on. After all, the man was well-versed in the art of reading people (and manipulating people, for better or worse).

Actually, knowing the man, the elder Takahashi had most likely deduced the general source of his misery and was only waiting, biding his time until the perfect moment to confront his chief downhiller about it.

As the Project D members neared their two opponents, Takumi began noticing that one of the two aforementioned opponents (who was a frail, seemingly harmless man wearing rimmed glasses, a stark contrast to the man who had quite a wide midsection), for a brief moment, looked at him (with what seemed to be wisps of recognition contained within his glance), though removed his scrutinizing (and rather uncomfortable) gaze off him within milliseconds, seemingly unsatisfied with the conclusion he had drawn.

 _Perhaps the man had mistaken me for another person_ , Takumi mused.

* * *

 _A few minutes prior to the beginning of the battle_

The two high-caliber downhillers faced each other, their auras already battling it out as they attempted to push the other back.

Takumi could easily recognize the size of the challenge that had been put forth by his opponent.

In his own time, Takumi was able to find low-quality VHS tapes of Purple Shadow's past races (most of which were over fifteen years old). Back then, they were one of the most respected and formidable teams outside of the professional arena, and was extremely popular within Japan. At the time, Joushima drove a highly-modified Honda S800, whilst Hoshino drove a Toyota 2000 GT.

What Takumi found rather peculiar was the unspoken member of the Purple Shadow, who had allegedly quit the team only two weeks after their debut. Prior to joining the team, the member drove a midnight blue 240z which, after much researching, turned out to be one of the most formidable opponents on the road at the time, with a fruitful, well-known racing history for both highway and touge racing, and was apparently coined by a famous journalist as "the Devil Z".

From the few recordings the downhiller was able to garner which displayed said 240Z, the driver of said car, somehow, seemed to be miles ahead of the other Purple Shadow members for technique, skill, talent, and technology, even beyond five years prior to the debut of said team. It truly seemed like the perfect idol material, and judging by the numerous forums dedicated solely towards the said 240Z driver, even more so than its current driver (who seemed to only use it on the highway), many thought so as well.

After further research, Takumi discovered that the driver in question sold his 240Z to a guy called the "Tuner from Hell" a couple of years after quitting the Purple Shadow, and, apparently, was rumoured to have bought _an Eight-Six,_ of all things, soon after selling said 240Z, which the man drove, later on, in the few races he attended during his short stint as a prominent member within the notorious street racing team.

Takumi briefly thought if his father was the driver of the 240Z and Eight-Six, as the man did seem to fit the criteria, though, if memory serves, Takumi wasn't able to recall any mention (from both his father and the few friends his old man had) of his father ever living in Ibaraki, so he simply dismissed it as pure speculation.

"...What position would you like to start in for the first run?" Fumihiro asked the opposing team's downhiller, effectively derailing Takumi's train of thought.

"Chase, if you don't mind," Joushima responded, "Starting from behind would be a nice change of pace." A light smile rested on the man's face.

Fumihiro nodded at his response, saying, "That'll work." Before proceeding to tilt his head until he was facing Takumi.

He yelled, "Hey Fujiwara, you'll be leading the first run!"

The middle-aged racer approached Takumi. The teenager was already familiar with this specific part of Project D: the pre-race greetings and introductions. This had already become so commonplace in his life that he had already begun to associate these actions with Project D, and Project D only.

The elder halted in front of the young downhiller. "Joushima, nice to meet you son." The man said, his light smile bright and unwavering, as though the man was truly rejoicing at the prospect of properly meeting the young adult.

"Takumi," The adolescent responded, "it's nice to meet you too sir." After his response, Takumi mentally prepared himself to open up the door of his Eight-Six, which he knew may very well lead to the demise of his winning streak.

However, as it seemed, he didn't prepare for, or expect, what happened next.

"Mind if I ask you a question?" Joushima asked.

Takumi's slight, "Uhh…", combined with his widening eyelids and gaping mouth clearly communicated his surprise and shock.

"Uhh...shoot?" Takumi finished.

Joushima's smile grew slightly, before he responded, "I was just wondering _why_ at such a young age a kid like you would choose to drive an Eight-Six. It may not seem like much to you, but it's of great interest to me."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but it wasn't my decision to drive the Eight-Six in the first place." Takumi paused, reminiscing about the first time his father took him for a drive in the Eight-Six. "It used to be my father's."

"Your father's, huh?" Joushima interrupted, his curiosity evident from the way he spoke.

"Yeah. She's been in the family for almost as long as I can remember, and since she was all that we had, it was what I ended up driving. I guess I've kind of gotten attached to her." Takumi looked at his Eight-Six affectionately, a smile forming on his face, "I was driving this baby way before I even had my license."

Joushima raised an eyebrow. "How interesting…" Joushima said, pausing for a moment before continuing, "Then I guess you must've learned everything you know about driving from your father, I assume he taught you."

Takumi reminisced on his father's

"Well…", Takumi said, his father's vague, obscure advice and intriguing yet intrusive training methods (to say the least) still fresh in his mind from the transpired events in the past few weeks. "...I guess you could put it like that…"

Joushima released a small, "Hmph." Before continuing on.

"I certainly wouldn't mind meeting your father one of these days, I have a feeling he-and-I would get along pretty well." Takumi inwardly chuckled at his mental image of the polite man in front of him attempting to deal with the irritating piece of shit he called his father.

* * *

 _ **That's it for now!**_

 _ **I would like to apologize for the abrupt stop, but since you guys wanted another chapter (the prospect of people actually wanting to read my stories is still an alien concept to me, and it does also seem rather surreal), I decided I would post what I have so far. Keep in mind that in the next update, I will simply add to this existing chapter.**_

 _ **Mach1av3ll1an out!**_


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